Mìngyùn
by Molten-Ashes
Summary: (Literally translated: The turns of events in life) The first time Sunstreaker meets Bluestreak, the sniper slaps him.


Disclaimer:I regret to say I don't own Transformers

Please R&R

(So I've discovered that if I really think about it, Sunstreaker/Bluestreak is my guilty pleasure ship. The pairing is kinda/sorta/not really/maybe way in the future implied at the end so it can be read as just a 'Lets be friends' fic if you want. Enjoy!)

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><p>====Iacon Autobot Base====<p>

===Sunstreaker===

The first time Sunstreaker meets Bluestreak, the grey sniper slaps him.

The audible gasp from the collective rec-room seems to fade into the distance before the magnificent anger that the Praxian is radiating, doorwings cast high, his palm still raised, vents heaving.

He turns his helm back to stare mystified at his new opponent, the force that snapped his finned helm sideways having strained a few neck cables, leaving him mildly stunned.

Everything has paused, cubes halfway to mouths, conversations halted mid syllable at the loud confrontation between the new gunner and the sociopath that the Praxian had been assigned to cover.

Even Sideswipe seems to have nothing to say, the jovial twin sitting with his jaw dropped open like a train tunnel, the twin bond radiates shock, surprise, even a trace of amusement as the vermillion half of their duo begins to make sense of just what had happened.

Sunstreaker gains his equilibrium and surges to his pedes, jarring the table away, the quartet of table legs squealing across the floor as his hip bumps it, sloshing the full energon cube he had intended to enjoy over the surface in a mockery of spilt mech-blood. He looms, dark and terrible, something thrumming deep when he notes with pleasure that the smaller mech stands his ground, doorwings shifting, spreading wide to make the silvery sniper seem bigger, more of a threat.

He reaches out, slightly clawed fingers hooking the collar flaring and heaving the bot into the air, prompting an eruption of denials and pleads from the rest of their comrades as Sideswipe also moves, servos grabbing the fist drawing back to swing, denta gritted with the strain he needs to exert.

"Snipers are cowardly are they, front liner?" The gunner snaps, cerulean optics flashing, egging his murderous rage on, the blue crystal lenses shining with an inner hurt and recklessness that seems to encompass everything. "Well here is your proof we are nothing of the sort!"

"There's a difference between being brave and being suicidal!" Sideswipe grunts as his brother rumbles, the red twin still trying to hold back that fist that would easily land the new transfer in the medical bay for several deca orns.

"What does it matter?" The Praxian hisses, grief flashing in those bright eyes, those windows to the spark. "Brave? Suicidal? What is the difference when you are in a war?"

"Sunstreaker! Release him!" The barked order does nothing for the tension in the room, if anything it escalates when Prowl enters, Jazz dogging at his heels.

The gunner and Sunstreaker lock optics with each other, challenge rippling between them, Sideswipe almost being jerked from his feet when the golden warrior grudgingly stands down, yanking his fist back to his side. "You're not worth it." He grunts, dropping the scowling mech to the floor, returning to his seat in a sarcastic manner, showing he was playing the part of good little Autobot for the masses.

"Bluestreak!" Prowl continues barely pausing, cold gaze pinning the red highlighted mech where he stood after he had risen, optics guilty and averted. "My office. Now. Jazz, see to this mess."

"You got it Prowler." The Special Operations mech sighs, servos resting on his hips which cant to the side as he shifts his weight.

The Praxians leave and the rec room resumes it business tentatively, like a single loud noise would have the occupants scrambling for safety much like the petro rabbits that sometimes dug under the base wall.

Sunstreaker sits and scowls as Jazz sits to casually lecture him on basic manners or some rot, Sideswipe returning to his bland people watching as if the incident had never happened. But it had happened, he had the throbbing faceplate to prove it.

====Two Decacycles later====

The next time they met, Sunstreaker was bleeding out on the battlefield. His emergency beacon was broken, Sideswipe somewhere up above tangling with the seekers and to far gone in battle lust to notice his brother slowly dying somewhere on the outskirts of a battle.

He groans when he hears a skid and a curse, broken from his musings about what death would be like, the curse quickly followed by a slew of babbling about inconvenient rubble placement before a silver and red winged figure leans over him.

"Oh, great." Bluestreak sighs, pressing a palm to his forehelm in aggravation. "It's you."

"Sorry to be such a pest. Am I ruining your orn?" He bites back, energon trickling from the corner of his lips, venom blackening his tone, trying to move. Every joint, wire and node hurts, every plastic vein and metal artery feels raw and tender, leaving him to fall back in his small crater with a furious pained snarl. "Go away and leave me to deactivate in peace."

"Oh, stop being such a martyr." The sniper sniffs, chatting himself stupid as he drops to his knee guards and begins clamping burst lines and repairing mild smoking bits of circuitry. "I'm no medic, but this should last you until we can find Ratchet."

"We?" He grumbles, affronted. He doesn't want to be anywhere near this mech, he doesn't trust himself. A phantom sting still lingers on his cheekplate from where the gunner had slapped him, revenge unclaimed and still stewing in the recesses of his processor.

"Yes. We." The little Praxian says, determined and serious, rifle clamped to his back, between the fluttering doorwings as he finishes messing around in Sunstreaker's internals. "I suppose we didn't meet under the best circumstances, I was angry, scared, in a very dark place after... well, after Praxus." The chevroned mech shakes his helm, as if to be rid of bad memories. "Let's start over, I'm Bluestreak."

Sunstreaker is offered a servo, as if to shake it like a civilised mecha, but he isn't one. He's a warrior, brought up with only a rough and tumble twin in a gladiators arena. So, instead, as a way of signifying his truce and acceptance, he grabs the smaller Cybertronian's collar flaring and drags him forward to head-butt him forehelm to forehelm. It's not gentle, with a loud thunderous crack of armoured helms coming together like a war drum.

"Ow!" The sniper cries, falling back clutching at his helm, dazed, "why would you DO that?!"

"Truce." He grunts, testing the repairs by heaving himself to his pedes, wobbling unsteadily, jumping in surprise when the gunner catches him, wrapping an arm around a black and gold waist while the other hefts a scuffed aurum arm over silver-grey shoulders so that he is not putting pressure on his most injured leg. The ex-gladiator turns to the Ex-civilian who shares a bright smile, a small dent now marring his crimson chevron, a small black paint transfer barely noticeable under the dirt and grime.

"Lets do it together."

And for the first time in vorns, Sunstreaker lets a smile tweak the corner of his lips as he nods his consent.

====Two Vorns Later====

====Iacon Autobot Base====

===Sideswipe===

Sideswipe notices the changes. Sunstreaker begins to relax around the rec-room, only glowering instead of reacting to various snide comments. Of course, there are still occasions where a fist met a helm but those incidents were almost always caused by Cliffjumper being a jumped up fragger. The vain mech would also disappear for a few joors at a time, coincidently allowing Sideswipe to encounter Bluestreak's entourage of buddies out looking for the sniper at the exact same time that he was searching for his twin.

The gold mech would return from going off Sideswipe's radar content, quiet and peaceful, something that had the red twin on edge, making him jumpy and waspish for a time as he waited for Sunstreaker to open up to him as he always did.

But it was never forthcoming, just half-sparked grunts to mind his own business.

So, concerned and possibly jealous if one had to name that green acidic feeling churning away in his spark, Sideswipe tailed his Twin the next time Sunstreaker decided to slip away from him, shutting him out of both company and spark.

The observation deck was where he found them, the sniper and the front liner, sitting with their pedes dangling over the edge, sharing a canister of contraband high grade, talking about nothing.

He blinked and stared at the oddity, scrutinising the scene by tilting his helm this way and that.

"I wouldn't interrupt them if I were you." Whispered a voice in his audio, his scream of fright muffled by a blue servo slapped across his mouth as Smokescreen scared the living daylights out of him.

"Primus, Smokey, are you trying to give me a spark attack?" The red and black twin gasped, "You're really abusing your Spec Ops training here."

"Ah, I need the practice. Who better to try it out on than you my friend?" The third of the three Praxians on base smiled politely a teasing glimmer in his optics as Sideswipe shoved him playfully.

"So how did that happen?" Sideswipe asked, wanting to get the the crux of the matter, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the oblivious duo, now chatting about colour schemes if he was hearing Sunny's suddenly loud voice right. "Last time I saw them, Sunny was about to make Blue into a serving tray."

Smokescreen merely offered him an enigmatic smile, beckoning him away from the observation deck towards his office. As soon as the door was shut behind him and Sideswipe had thrown himself onto the patient couch in the psychologist's office, Smokescreen spoke. "Did you know your brother was to be recommended for a complete Processor Reformat after the battle two vorns ago?"

Sideswipe shot upright on the couch, optics narrowed and dangerously bright. "Prime would never agree to that." He said lowly.

"If it is in the best interests of the Autobots." Smokescreen suggested with a shrug of his doorwings, "A lot of things have been done to keep this army going Sideswipe, not all of it good. Your brother was falling apart, his mind was ripping itself apart stitch by stitch because of the things he's been forced to do for the things he believes in."

"But...I'm here," the red twin protested with a frown. "That should be enough."

"Sometimes family isn't enough. Being a twin isn't enough." Smokescreen said, closing his optics and inhaling sharply as if he knew the painful experience. "When Blue saved Sunstreaker back then, somehow they found common ground, now, both of their psychological patterns have calmed, they still read tormented and broken, like many mechs on this base, but, because they have found a friend who understands, they are better off for it. And thus, neither of them are now recommended for a Reformat."

As Sideswipe contemplated the Praxian's reasoning, Smokescreen smiled softly, reaching forward and patting his friend on the helm, "So try not to be so jealous, okay? He'll share his friend soon enough."

====Bluestreak====

Sunstreaker was easily turning out to be his best friend, he decided. The golden mech had a certain flare to him that the Praxian hadn't come across before, often making their conversations in their quiet spot interesting and diverse. He couldn't help but include his own theories into the mix, whenever Sunstreaker decided to rant about a particular mini-bot or Tracks being an insufferable narcissist.

"You're vain too Sunny, don't you deny it." He laughed after a particularly scathing comment, leaning back so that he could stare up at the smog clouds that surrounded the spires of war torn Iacon. He couldn't remember the stars nowadays, all they were now were legendary glowing dots hidden behind a curtain of red acid clouds. There were no wishes to be made in this war. "I wish..." He muttered wishing anyway, tilting his helm back sliding his optic covers closed and imagining the peace, the quiet, the friends he had once had. "I wish it had been different."

"Don't we all." Sunstreaker grunted, taking an almost bitter swig of his High Grade, turning his helm to watch as Bluestreak flattened himself onto his back, doorwings spread about him. "Tell me more about this Carnival thing you mentioned. The only carnival I've been involved in had me putting a sword through a mechs helm."

"You really know how to kill the mood." Bluestreak giggled, rebooting his optics, raising his arms, fingers spread wide as if to capture or hold up the sky.

"Well, this kind of emotional slag is Sideswipe's forte, not mine." The golden gladiator sniffed imperiously, obliging his instincts and tipping onto his back strut as well to stare up at the rolling red sea above them.

The gunner lowered his arms, his left sprawled out intentionally so that his servo could clasp Sunstreaker's. "I don't mind." The talkative mech grinned rolling his helm to gaze into the confused frown of his companion that tightened his grip on the gunner's fingers when Bluestreak tested the connection to see if it was welcome, "You're kind of sweet that way."

They spent the rest of their break cycle like this, servos linked, staring up at the expanse, wishing on invisible stars.


End file.
